


heartlines on your hand

by petalgrown



Category: One Piece
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Families of Choice, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Portgas D. Ace Lives, Rating May Change, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Slow Burn, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22328686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petalgrown/pseuds/petalgrown
Summary: It’s a terrible thing, realizing you shouldn’t be alive. He is all that remains of a shattered life once lived and the existence built on top of it. A patchwork of a person in the simplest terms.However, this is a story about learning to love the life you are given no matter how undeserving you may feel.
Relationships: Portgas D. Ace & Original Male Character(s), Portgas D. Ace & Whitebeard Pirates, Portgas D. Ace/Original Male Character(s), Spade Pirates & Portgas D. Ace, Whitebeard Pirates & Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 67
Kudos: 419
Collections: A Collection of Beloved Inserts





	1. Chapter 1

This is his first memory of his new life:

His mother balancing him on her hip, one arm to keep him steady, the other stirring dinner on the stove. Her hair long enough to brush against his cheeks and her voice a soothing lull as she speaks, a fairytale unfolding from her lips as she sways gently from side to side. The smell of the ocean breeze casting through the open window chased by the fading sunlight. The whole room lit in a fire bright glow.

This is the final memory of his old life; the only one he can catch with clarity:

The harsh snap of a bone breaking. The white hot pain that follows. The smell of blood in the air—thick and heady and suffocating. The taste of copper along his teeth, against his tongue. His throat raw from screaming. The two bodies already fallen near him, their blood soaking his pants, seeping through the floorboards. The click of a gun.

A bang.

Then nothing.

* * *

It’s a terrible thing, realizing you shouldn’t be alive. A feeling that can’t be shaken. Time somehow snatched from Death’s hand and a story of Life being rewritten somewhere along the margins.

He can’t make sense of it. Finds soon on that he doesn’t want to even if he could. There is pain with each long gone memory, an ache for a life that’s impossible to return to. Digging too deep will only conjure pain, set forcibly closed wounds bleeding fresh against his heart until it sinks down into the marrow of his bones. The person he is now is still young, still growing, still acclimating properly to this strange world he once thought false and impossible to reach. He is all that remains of a shattered life once lived and the existence built on top of it. A patchwork of a person in the simplest terms and he’s the only one that can claim himself as a defunct glitch in the system. This is a blessing and curse in equal measure.

The life he has now isn’t a bad one besides, not the worst by any means compared to what he catches in the conversations of whispering adults, their voices tight with worry and sighs laden with pity. There are slavers and pirates and corrupt marines, villages raided and burned down overnight, people that care little for civilian lives or lives in general. Here is a world where violence takes a stronghold against everything; where power rules above all else and it’s frowned upon to speak otherwise, to claim that the ruling factions are the ones in the wrong. To claim that things need to be changed.

He wonders often if systematically cruel carnage will ever reach his little town, the one he’s started to call home and love as much as he’s able to love a place. Maybe one day, because pirates do dock at their shores often, tucked not too far from the beginnings of the Grand Line as they are. There are bar fights every night and sometimes blood will stain the beach in the mornings, gone by the time the next high tide rolls around.

His life is a simple one, at least—a beginning carved out neatly in the corner of the world. His mother raised him by herself, a challenge for anyone, so he makes sure her burdens are light. He runs errands for her often be it household chores or market trips. After all, she leads a busy life outside of him, running the town smithy as she does—the only blacksmith in town at that. Renowned for her talent—a sort of magic she makes with any metal that falls into her forge—she’s busy quite often, mainly with pirates looking for stronger weapons and gear to take on the Grand Line.

She says that’s how she met his father—a man he’s seen only a handful of times, but enough to commit his face to memory, enough to know exactly who the man is. It isn’t as though he visits often or even writes—too dangerous apparently for reasons brushed away with a shrug and handwave whenever mentioned. Mother and son don’t care about the lack of visits anyway, content with their family dynamic of two. Their circumstances aren’t uncommon enough to turn any heads, and it isn’t as though they need the man around.

His mother had asked him once, very seriously, after his father offered them a rare and brief visit, if he was happy. He was young then, younger, only elbow height and still light enough to be toted around if he really wanted to. She had a look on her face that broke his heart and maybe hers was breaking too, maybe motherhood had gotten too much at that moment. Perhaps the future seemed bleak in a world where violence ruled, and nothing was ever truly fair in life.

“I am happy.” He had said and looked her straight in the eyes when he spoke.

It wasn’t until later that night after crawling into bed that he realized saying those words were the first lie he’d ever told her and then another realization that they wouldn’t be the last.

* * *

Euphemia loves her son, loves him more than she can describe. She’ll rend the world in two for his sake if she must—if he wanted her to. But her boy’s a simple kid, always has been. Hard to understand at times, sure, but that’s probably his father’s fault, picked up from the man in some way or another. But once he’s understood, he’s understood, and there’s no changing that.

Her boy never asks for anything, not even a present for a birthday or sweets from the shop. She gives him gifts despite all that, whatever she’d think he’d like, and he always receives them well. He even still wears the pendant she made for him when he was ten, though the chain has long since been replaced by leather twine after the clasp broke. The bracelets that adorn his wrists are from her too, switched between designs daily, but he makes sure to wear each one at least once a week. It warms her heart, her son’s careful care and steady show of love and gratitude.

Her boy never asks for anything, but she knows he wants something. Wants something in the way he probably won’t ever be able to describe. She raised that boy, so of course, she can tell—has seen it in him since he was young. Can tell by the way his eyes always drift towards the ocean, to the horizon beyond, in moments of idleness. How there’s no tearing him away from a window whenever there’s a storm; he’ll watch it all mesmerized until it either ends or he falls asleep against the sill, a blanket tucked around his shoulders and tea long since cold. 

He has the look of someone that wants to leave, but doesn’t know that he can, doesn’t yet realize he can think past their bubble of a world on their little island despite how many pirate crews they get. You’d think he’d realize by now; despite how smart he is, some things don’t exactly make it through. It’s easy for him to miss the little things, she’s realized, easy for him to miss the things pertaining to himself.

He’s eighteen, a man grown by anyone's standards, her child still, by hers. He still needs a delicate push every now and again, and isn’t this her duty as a mother to provide that?

* * *

“You know you can leave right?” His mother says one night without preamble.

It catches him fully off-guard, causes a hitch panic to set his heart thrumming against the cage of his chest. Makes him wonder _does she know, does she know, does she know_? He can’t even begin to start the next stitch needed to mend his shirt, his thoughts a sudden maelstrom.

The question goes unanswered for too long. His mother pokes her head up from where she’s going over tomorrow’s workload on paper. The look on his face must be something because her own expression stutters with concern. She sets a calloused rough hand against his arm gently.

“Steady breaths, kiddo.” She soothes. He follows her advice. “Sorry. Would have put more tact into it if I knew it would worry.”

He focuses on the beat of his heart. Forces it to settle. “Are you kicking me out?”

“Not if you don’t want to move out.” That’s all it’s ever been. She’d never force him to do anything but gently pushes just the same. “You’re eighteen. I’d love to keep you at home all the time because you’re my baby and I love you. You're your own person though, and our town is small. If you wanted to leave and go see more of the world, I wouldn’t stop you.”

He considers. It’s something he’d considered in the past; the possibility was easy. He got invitations to join crews more than once and yet, they always felt empty, not quite right.

He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. What’s waiting for him.

“Maybe.” He hums, leaves it at that.

His mother doesn’t bring up the topic again.

* * *

There’s a languid air to Ace’s gait as he works his way through the town. They anchored the ship not even a full two hours ago and already he feels the pull to leave, to set their sails further through the oceans. The Grand Line proper is finally within their reach and yet, they’ve stopped barely a week’s journey into it. Word of a renowned blacksmith had caught half the crew’s attention and it felt cruel to have them miss this opportunity.

He and Mihar are the only ones out, however; following claims and rumors is an easy thing. He wants to know for certain if the blacksmith does a good a job as the people say, not wanting to waste time on a dead-end by having the entire crew set out.

The townsfolk, at least, are an amiable sort—gives answers to any questions they receive quickly and no wariness in their eyes or voice like Ace expects most people to have. Perhaps, living this close to the start of the Grand Line has forged these people into something different—spines entwined with steel from all the pirates they must certainly have to deal with. It is an admirable trait for anyone to have, the bravery not to wane.

They too are kind enough to lead Ace and his crewmate directly to the smithy; a modest sized building makes up the entirety of it, and from outside Ace can hear the rhythmic sound of metal being molded into a different form. The proximity to the heat, to the fire being used, stirs something inside him.

He is the first to walk through the doors before he even realizes what’s happening. The bell sings their entrance.

The only person behind the counter looks up.

Green is the first thing Ace notices. Eyes green as jade, as summertime leaves, like the ocean on the cusp of a storm. It is a heavy gaze, and in that second Ace feels as though his entire life story is being laid bare. It is an uncomfortable feeling. He resists the urge to walk back out despite the itching under his skin telling him to lift anchor and leave this place.

“Please don’t leave the door open.” Says the person behind the counter—he can’t be any older than Ace is. His voice is soft, the type of voice that has probably never once needed to shout. Ace hasn’t seen the type since Makino.

Ace steps in fully so he can close the door properly. Mahir follows close behind an unvoiced concern in the older man’s gaze as he looks over to his captain. Completely unnecessary, though it does warm Ace from the inside out because people worrying about him is a novel thing that will always settle as a surprise. He gives a barely there shake of his head, but Mahir doesn’t look thoroughly convinced. He doesn’t say anything, anyway, wouldn’t in the company of strangers.

The one behind the counter waits patiently still, a word not spoken since his first request. He does tilt his head to the side though, curious. Deftly tucks a curl of hair that falls in front of his face behind his ear—the bracelets decorating his wrist chime gently with the motions. 

Their gazes stay caught.

The world continues to shift under their feet.

And yet, it still feels like this the beginning of something, or maybe the end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm here to be extremely self-indulgent & live my life which means exploring the dynamic of rowdy pirate families


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if things read a bit weird. trying to get into a groove for the characters and whatnot!

Her boy brings pirates into her shop. Not the first time in his life, definitely not the last given her usual customers. But this is the first time she’s ever seen Fire Fist Ace outside of a wanted poster. A little upstart, some of the older captains like to call him—jealous of a child is all she can figure. She doesn’t care either way, a potential customer is a potential customer.

For all his bounty is already worth and the skill of his crew and the way he’s said to wield the power of his Devil Fruit, Fire Fist is a child through and through, no older than her son, that’s for damn sure. A youthful creature of a boy, still growing into himself it seems, still growing into the world. The freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose don’t help much either in that respect and neither does the wide-eyed wonder he has while looking at some of the wares she already has on display.

“I do more delicate work too for special occasions.” Euphemia explains, keeps the thread of conversation going with the man that introduced himself as Mihar as well as a subtle eye to make sure Fire Fist doesn’t cut himself on something sharp while no one’s looking. It’s a sort of instinct she can’t turn off given how many adults she’s had nearly lose a finger because they don’t take her skills seriously enough and poking and prodding at things. Fire Fist is more curious than suspicious, at the very least

“Kid.” The call gets her son to look up from his book and Fire Fist to snap his head in her direction looking caught. She laughs. “My kid, Fire Fist, not you. I wanna show off a bit.”

Both boys shuffle over regardless. Her son holds out his wrist with more grace than the task ought to call for, but he’s used to this by now—having her show him off, the bracelets anyway, knows just what to do to make them look more impressive in the shop’s lighting. Each one is made from a different metal; each design is unique—only her best work for her son.

She taps the most intricate one on he’s wearing comprised mainly of silver, the design of morning glories wrapping around his wrist. “He’s not wearing all of them, but this is the latest one. So, if you want something fancy, I can make it happen and have it delivered right to your ship. It’ll cost extra, of course.” 

Fire Fist whistles low, admiring, head tilted this way and that. He looks like he wants to touch but knows better than to make a grab for a stranger. Good head on his shoulders—her son’s broken noses for lesser things when bothered.

“Well Miss Euphemia,” Fire Fist straightens, smiles. He has dimples on his cheeks. Looks too young to be pirating a crew, to have such a high bounty hanging like a noose around his neck. “looks like you got yourself some new customers.”

* * *

Deuce ambles up to his captain when he appears back on the deck, sooner than expected and with another person in tow. This one’s shorter than Ace, slighter, doesn’t seem the type that’s ever been directly involved in a fight, but Deuce knows well that looks can be deceiving, even more so considering they’re on the Grand Line now. His bracelets catch the glare of the sun and his eyes shine like lake pools in the light. The expression on his face is oddly unreadable unless the curious way his eyes rove around the surrounding area is an indication of anything.

“New stray, captain?” Greeting replaced by mild teasing. Everyone who calls themselves a Spade Pirate has been swept up by Ace’s kind graces and kinder smiles as if he’s making it his mission to take the most downtrodden and give them something to call _nakama_. No one would be surprised if this was the case.

Ace crosses his arms and shakes his head, smile in place. It's not odd to see him without one, but he looks better with dimpled cheeks and flashing teeth. "Nah, he's here to...help or something."

"Or something." Deuce echoes exaggerated and fond. He turns to look back at the stranger aboard the ship. "What are you helping with? As my captain so graciously puts it."

The kid looks surprised to be addressed directly, for some reason or another, as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself at the moment. "I'm just here to see what needs to be done and get an estimate from that money and time-wise. For the smithing."

"You're not the blacksmith." Less of a question and more of a statement. Deuce has seen enough blacksmiths and the like to note the tells of one. Or maybe he’s being too hasty in judgments—people have warned him against that habit before. 

"My mom is.” The stranger answers easily; Deuce is pleased with his own deductive skills on that front. “I just help with stuff like this. Besides, she already has a few of her own apprentices that help out."

Captain shows interest in the way he always tends to do—a pinpoint gaze and a curious look. “Why aren't you apprenticed under her? It's a good trade, especially given the reputation she has."

Deuce can’t blame him for his questioning, his curiosity. A family trade is a family trade and smithing of any sort is about one of the best things you can do given all the pirates and such that need weapons these days. There’s always a fight to be had, always metals to molding into something sharp and dangerous. He’s heard if people are lucky—or unlucky enough—they might catch the attention of marines and do more that way.

Despite their line of question, intrusive and a little rude as it is, and Deuce wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t get an answer anyway, but they do get one. They get a smile—small like a secret needing to be kept. "Oh, she always figured I’d end up doing something different in the end."

* * *

The sun is setting by the time everything is said and done. Ace’s crew was amiable about someone asking after what needed to be fixed and tended to, what sort of weapons they might be interested in adding to their arsenal. Then again, Ace makes a point of having people under his flag that are kind for kindness sake, and they might be a little rough around the edges, but what pirate isn’t at some point?

The sun is setting, and Ace has agreed to take the blacksmith’s son back to shore on the dinghy. He has to pick Mahir anyway, considering that the other stayed behind to scope out what exactly they can stock on the ship before they leave. It's a menial task, picking up crewmates and dropping people off, probably something most captains wouldn't bother doing, but Ace doesn't mind. He doesn't interact with a lot of people age, besides, given that most of his crew is technically older than him by a couple of years at the very least. There's a bigger gap between eighteen and twenty, he's starting to realize.

He's realizing a lot these days. Some of it obvious, some of it not so.

Like now. It feels like a silly thing to question, but Ace is a little shameless at times, has to be. He grew up primarily in the woods, after all, and he has being a pirate under his hat. "Hey, I don't think I know your name."

The nameless boy across from him doesn't say anything immediately—he's been too focused on the expanse of the sky, head tilted back, and eyes pointed upward. He doesn’t talk much, Ace has noticed, not unless prompted, but he’s good at talking. Most people can’t charm Kotatsu into trailing behind them after just a few sentences and a scratch behind the ears. Or maybe he’s just careful around strangers—there are a lot of pirates on the island, he noticed, and not everyone is the friendly sort.

"Because you don't." Simple as that is the answer that comes eventually. He shifts, posture a bit straighter as he looks directly at Ace now. "You never asked for it, and I try not to make a habit out of giving things not asked for."

Ace doesn’t know what to feel, it’s a mix of things really. Amused by the complex simplicity of the reasoning, a little embarrassed from his lack of manners that Makino would have no doubt scolded him for. He settles on a crooked smile and laughed exhale.

“Sorry about that.” He does genuinely mean it. Names are important things, sometimes it’s all a person has to call their own. “I’m usually better about these things. So, what is your name?”

“Ezra.” He answers and leaves it at that. No family name is given, not that it sets off anything for Ace—Euphemia didn’t give a family name either. A lot of people keep that part of themselves locked up tight these days.

They reach the docks. The sun has finally set, but the moon is bright tonight reflecting off the water. There are still people milling around but not with the same energy they had when Ace and his crew first docked.

The smith’s son—Ezra now, Ace can easily commit to memory—doesn’t wait for the dinghy to be secured before making his way off. The boat and boys both wobble at the sudden shift of weight, but settle neatly, only ripples on the surface now.

“Leaving already?” Ace can’t help but ask. Moors the dinghy with practiced ease cultivated from years of experience.

“I have to cook dinner.” Is the reply, but Ezra makes no move to actually leave, waits patiently for Ace to hop onto the shore. “And get these notes back to my mom. She’s pushing you to the front, so you’ll have to pay extra for that, you know?”

Makes sense. The price will probably dip into their funds more than expected, but the pay off should be well worth it. Dealing with the money isn’t even Ace’s job; that’s why Mahir always tags along whenever something big needs paying for.

“I’ll have to thank her properly then.” Feels like the right thing to say, to do really. Small mercies and Ace has learned to be grateful for each and every one.

Ezra doesn’t say anything, just gives a look that could mean absolutely anything. He shrugs, starts walking—hair black as pitch and swaying against his shoulders as he goes. Ace follows, has nothing better to do than keep an eye out for his crewmate who might actually be looking for something to eat in town proper. That’s what Ace would be doing if he was left in town for more than an hour. 

He shoves his hands inside his pockets and considers safe topics. Ezra seems like someone that will clam up quick if you aren’t careful—Ace knows the type well.

“So, the island.” He starts since that’s about as safe as a person can get with anyone, usually. “Me and the crew’ll be here a few days. Anything to know?”

“We get a lot of pirates.” Said as if it’s something mentioned often, and it probably is. “Lots of fights because of it. I wouldn’t bother getting in between one that isn’t your business. They usually sort themselves out.” Ezra actually looks at him then, piercing green eyes and something close to that same expression when they first met, before either of them spoke a word. “You might get into a few.”

“How do you know?” Ace huffs, feels a little petulant, a little childish when he says it. He thinks he knows the answer anyway given his track record.

“You’ve been causing a fuss since before you got to the Grand Line.” An upstart, Ace has been called by no shortage of people and other names, usually rude, besides—he can’t deny this. “It’ll only get worse from here on out.”

It’s spoken like the truest thing Ace has ever heard, one of the truest things, at least. As if Ace will never flicker out or falter, and he thinks that’s a good thing despite the underlying warning in the sentence. Because what is his life if he can’t make his own impact? If he can’t burn his way out of the shadows belonging to a father he doesn’t even know?

Who is he then?

Who will he be then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who left comments, kudos & bookmarks! i really appreciate it!! *i hold ezra up like simba* i hope you enjoy him so far!!! we'll slip back into his pov next time!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mix of weirdly proud & a little anxious about this chapter. i hope y'all enjoy & thank you for the support so far!! it's really blowing me away and giving me the motivation to write!!

It is one thing to wake in a world once thought fictional and false and fantastical. It is another thing entirely, to recognize someone from the paper pages and black and white drawings.

 _I know you, I know you, I know you_ claimed something in him—his heart, perhaps, with its stutter start beating against his ribcage like a bird thrashing against the confines. His mind, maybe with the way it whirled and ran during the entirety of their interactions. But really, how well can a person be known through secondhand accounts—when paper and ink suddenly become flesh and bone and breath?

Ezra doesn’t know Ace at all, not in the way that well and truly counts. He knows of him in a vague and tragic sense. A man that died too young, too bittersweetly. The world didn’t pause to mourn—because it ceases its turning for no one—but goes on, kicks up speed and continues. A catalyst for change. A martyr's death. This is what Ezra knows.

This is barely part of a whole sum, so he cannot lay claim to knowing Portgas D Ace. He cannot lay claim to knowing anything at all, really. This, he learns in the scant few hours of actually being around Ace and the short pocket of time spent in the Spade Pirates’ company. 

It’s a novel thing, learning, realizing, to have all assumptions put to rest. Ezra soaks up knowledge like a sponge, but only if it interests him, only if it catches his eyes and steals his attention for more than a few minutes at a time. 

Maybe that’s also why Ace’s sudden appearance in his sphere is so jarring outside of what he knows, what he thinks he knows.

The young captain is interesting and new, his presence sparks something in the town both inhabitants and visiting crews alike. As if they're all holding their breath waiting for something to start; as if they're all waiting to pounce.

* * *

Ezra takes to Ace’s presence as well as he can—it’s easy too, given the fact that they barely interact for more than a few minutes at a time outside that first meeting. Ace has a crew to keep track of, after all, and Ezra has a life on the island that hasn’t once stopped for any seafarer that came his way. Besides, the Spade Pirates won’t be docked at their shores for long, barely a week with the efficiency his mother works with whole crew assignments. 

The quicker the better, Ezra thinks and wonders if he’s cruel for thinking so, for wanting Ace to sail out of his life as quickly as he sailed into it. A life in partial ignorance is a life less complicated. He was content to have these vague memories in his head and not do anything with them, really. Because who is he to try and change things based entirely on knowledge might be faulty at best? He doesn’t even remember a lot of it, doesn’t think he cares enough to go digging despite his place here.

He wants a life as peaceful as he can manage. It’s hard given the world he lives in, the island he lives on. Ace being around, no matter how brief the time frame, only makes it harder because everyone wants a glimpse at the new rising star on the ocean. More pirates tromp around town than usual, more fights are breaking out each hour.

Ezra has to elbow five different people just to get a seat at the bar counter. It’s not even noon. It’s all terribly annoying. 

“Does your ma know you’re getting drunk before lunch, Zee?” Briar asks with more amusement than warranted—a quirked smile and bright brown eyes. 

Just two years older, and he’s already allowed to take full control of his family’s business—an establishment that tends more so to the pirates than the actual locals (there’s another bar for that anyway). Treats Ezra like a friend instead of a weird nuisance the others in their age bracket did while growing up, has since Ezra sent a fist in his face and knocked out two of his milk teeth when they were six and eight respectively. 

No one got in trouble for it; less _boys will be boys_ and more, that’s _just the law of the land_. Don’t throw a punch unless you mean for it to hurt or intend to get into a fight was a gateway lesson to don’t draw a weapon on someone unless you aim to kill. His father taught him that—the only lesson he’s ever taught him, actually, besides the basics of how to wield a dagger and not slice his fingers off in the process.

Ezra clicks his tongue. “I don’t get drunk before nightfall.” and he doesn’t even like to get drunk, besides. He places an elbow on the counter and cradles his cheek against his palm before continuing. “Do you have milk?”

“You have milk at home.” Briar states, as he always does, but pours a glass regardless. Ezra thinks he’s the sole reason milk is kept in the bar at this point. 

He actually doesn’t keep milk at home anyway; his mother is lactose intolerant, but she likes to ignore that part of her life despite what the doctor and Ezra say. 

The bar, despite how loud and rowdy it always tends to get, is an odd place of solace for Ezra. Always has been, in a strange way familiar places tend to be. Maybe because he spent a lot of childhood here either tucked in the corner behind the counter or upstairs when the living quarters actually are. 

Briar was good company in the past when they were younger and their interests more easily aligned. Now Briar has a pretty successful business and is dating a fisherman’s daughter—a life steadily coming together with ease. Ezra feels as though he’s adrift, moored and just going through the motions of whatever life throws his way. He thinks he’s fine with it, for the most part.

It’s easy to get lost in thought here if Ezra lets himself. No such luck today, however, when he hears the sound of someone sitting next to him despite the number of free seats still available. He’s content to ignore whoever it is, but a brief sidelong glance reveals black hair and freckles stark against olive-brown skin, and Ezra thinks he ought to have stayed home today, maybe. Or maybe he’s just thinking too hard about this whole thing, to begin with.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Ace says by way of greeting, not deterred by the fact that Ezra isn’t actually looking at him. 

You have to possess a certain amount of confidence to lead an entire crew and walk around shirtless no matter the company. Ezra doesn’t even know why Ace is interested in him beyond their first day of interacting—he’s insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Ezra tries to remember this often, it’s a humbling fact to understand about himself. 

Ezra drinks more of his milk. Hums. Considers that his mother raised him not to completely ignore someone when they’re talking to you unless they deserve it and turns enough to actually have a proper conversation. “I live here, of course you’ll see me.”

“No,” Ace shakes his head. “I mean in a bar filled primarily with pirates. You were at your mom’s shop every time I saw you.”

He answers with a shrug before actually responding. “I know the barkeep.” He knows the other one too, technically, but Briar is as close to a friend as Ezra thinks he’s ever gotten. “Also, I’m here for a reason.”

Briar chooses that moment to come back over to their section of the counter having been preoccupied with another group of patron. For someone that deals with rowdy people every day, he never looks frazzled. Ezra envies him for his composure.

“How much do you need exactly?” Ezra says instead. He has things to do today, the quicker they get done, the better.

“The fish is handled; I’ll be getting that once they pull in the nets in a couple of hours.” Briar answers, preoccupying himself with pouring multiple drinks as he goes. “Whatever you can bring back, really, but the bigger the better.”

Ezra thinks he can manage that easily. Downs the rest of his milk and places more beri on the counter than necessary. He slips out of his seat and isn’t surprised to note that Ace is following him, longer strides meaning he catches up quicker. 

“Where are you going?” Ace asks—curious thing, he must be incredibly bored to follow Ezra around. 

There’s nothing to hide, nothing exciting to mention. The answer is easy to give. “I’m going hunting.” 

* * *

_Hunting_ Ezra says, and Ace feels as though he has no choice but to follow after hearing that. More curious than anything, really, as someone who’s had to hunt and catch every meal that’s found its way into his stomach. He imagines Ezra, briefly, clobbering large tigers with a pipe and throwing rocks at birds and catching alligators, but finds the images disappearing before they can properly form. 

He doesn’t say anything to Ace following either, maybe understanding that having someone to help is more boon than anything. Or maybe assuming that Ace will depart once he gets bored or something. Ezra doesn’t have the air of someone expecting anything or someone interested in saying much—unhelpful, given that the silence between them isn’t the easiest. Ace has questions locked between his teeth now, and he’s never been known for his silence. 

“I can help.” Ace offers because he’s nice and has nothing better to do until their order is complete and they set sail again. An impromptu hunting trip can kill the day at the very least. 

Ezra hums and doesn’t answer for some reason or another and silence settles once more. It makes him wonder if he accidentally did something to offend the other but can’t think of anything given that they’ve barely interacted.

He exhales a sigh through his nose. Tries again, because Ace isn’t one to give up easily, anyway. “Why are you hunting for the barkeep?”

“Running low on food.” The answer is given near immediately. “Quicker than usual. Briar mentioned one patron, in particular, can eat enough for ten people at least.” Ezra pauses in front of a house, cutting a glance out of his periphery at Ace that has to mean he knows exactly who ate all that food. 

Ace can’t even be offended because, well, he isn’t wrong. More the reason to help with the task of getting more food—he only feels a little guilty about eating so much, besides. He can’t help his metabolism and how much he can down in a single sitting, anyway. Growing up the way he did didn’t help things either. 

“I tipped well.” He defends; contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t dine and dash from every place he goes to, just the ones where the owners and servers are rude.

“Good to hear.” Ace thinks that’s the beginning of a smile he sees or a smirk, but it drops as soon as Ezra slips inside the house that must be his. “Don’t step off the mat unless you take your shoes off. It’ll only take me a few minutes.”

Well, Ace can wait—he has a good enough view of the house from where he’s standing anyway. Ezra practically flings his own sandals off and disappears down the hall where the rooms must be; Ace isn’t that nosey enough to follow. 

It’s a well lived-in space, Ace can tell that much, probably what people would refer to as _homey_. There are blankets thrown over the backs of chairs and books and paper spread around nearly all the available surfaces. It makes Ace feel oddly nostalgic for something he’s never experienced, for something he’s never had and will never have. 

They’re not thoughts he can dwell on for long anyway since Ezra comes back just as soon as he said he would. He looks a bit different with his hair thrown into a bun and a bow and quiver of arrows hanging off him. 

Deuce and a number of the Spades had marked Ezra off as noncombatant, a normal civilian by anyone’s standards. Not that Ace blamed them—Ezra has a mild air about him, the type to fade in the background if you don’t actually know he’s there. But Ace thinks people don’t rely on you for hunting and you don’t just take any weapon out in the wild with you unless you know how to use it well.

“What’s the look for?” Ezra asks, something close to wariness lacing his tone, though his expression doesn’t change much besides the slight tilt of his head. 

Ace doesn’t know what look he’s talking about. “This is just my face.” He defends but doesn’t actually think he’s being believed. 

Ezra just shrugs and Ace is quickly learning that it’s a default response for some reason or another. He doesn’t know how much he minds that, if he minds it at all, being used to louder and rowdier people as he is

“You offered to help, right?” Ezra speaks up, surprisingly, though his attention seems to be half on the satchel he’s looking through.

“Sure.” Ace grins, roguish along the curl of his lips. “If you need help.”

He gets a sigh before an answer and Ezra walking out of the house with no warning, eyes still focused on his bag. “I don’t need the help, but I'd appreciate it just the same.”

Well, not the answer he was exactly expecting and wonders if he should stop expecting things with this one involved. He doesn’t think Ezra is being particularly rude either—Ace gets it, when you do something enough, then you don’t especially need a lot of help. But still, it’s about as close to an offer and approval as he’ll get, and he’s bored around here enough to take it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was actually supposed to include the hunting trip, but then i realized it would have to cover what happened after as well to not mess up with the flow too much. it would have drawn on too long, and i prefer a gradual increase in words per chapter, so please forgive me!! you will see ezra and ace again soon. they have a weird little dynamic so far and i like writing them together in the same space like this. i'm very excited to get writing on the next chapter; it'll be fun i think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this very stubborn chapter took way longer than i wanted it to, but here it is finally!!! i don't think i'm too happy with it compared to the others, but it happens!!! i'll come back and fix any mistakes later!!!
> 
> i hope you guys enjoy it either way and thanks so much for the support you've given this fic even though the update took longer than expected!! i blinked and suddenly so many kudos and comments; it really makes me happy!!!

The forest on the outskirts of the village is a familiar sanctuary to Ezra—many times he’s retreated to hide amongst the towering trees and lush foliage, learned the language of nature as if it was a well-loved song set to repeat. 

He sets bare feet onto the ground and shifts detritus with each step. And with each step there is a greeting, a welcoming, a call of return. The forest of this island is not his to claim, but he loves it as if it were.

Ace’s presence doesn’t diminish that feeling—the feeling of a great weight being lifted from the curl of Ezra’s shoulders—unlike others who have been known to tromp around with the sort of disrespect only known by man. It makes sense though, doesn’t’ it? Didn’t Ace too, grow up between the boughs of trees with nature as a guide. Then again, this information Ezra was not given—the intimacy of a childhood he should not be privy to. It could be wrong for all he knows, but he knows it isn’t.

“You’re doing pretty well in the forest.” He observes because Ace walks with a sort of silence and animal grace that betrays as much. 

“Grew up in one.” Fire Fist gives away easily, a crooked smile and an exhale puff of laughter, almost reminiscent. “‘cept it was more jungle than forest. Lots of tigers and monkeys and alligators we had to deal with. You learn things pretty fast out there.”

Ezra can understand that much even if he also had his mother’s kind hands to guide him as well. Thinks about the time he accidentally stepped into an old bear trap that left broken bones and pockmark scars along with an occasional ache and limp in its wake. However, that can easily be blamed as more man than nature.

“No tigers here.” Ezra supplies—information for information. “Bears though and deer and wolves. I’m looking for deer.”

“How many deer are you planning on bringing?”

“A stag should be enough for today. The butcher is taking care of the rest closer to dinner time.” He pauses, listens. One is close, but not close enough to set the hunt. He pitches his voice lower—the wind carries, and animals listen too. “You'll help me carry it?"

Ace's voice is not unkind when he speaks— amused, though he too mimics Ezra's lowered volume. "Why else would I be here?" He shrugs. "Don't exactly have a weapon to hunt with either."

_Like you need a weapon_ Ezra doesn’t say but thinks it all the same; you don’t come this far to reach the Grand Line to get taken out by animals, most animals anyway. Ezra’s flipped through books with strange creatures with stranger abilities, each ocean with its own special varieties—that is to say nothing about what they haven’t officially discovered and made note of. 

“I’m sure you’ll make do.” He settles on saying and gives a straight face delivery of “I know those muscles aren’t for show.”

It’s true and if Ace is somehow stunned by the statement, Ezra doesn’t know why. Doesn’t know why Ace breaks into a grin either—weird guy. 

“Huh, so you do know how to joke.”

Was that a joke? Ezra considers how he said it; he knows he’s bad with inflections on the best of days. _Humor drier than bleached bone_ his mother had said _you get it from your father, probably._ Never did tell him if it was a good or bad thing. 

“That wasn’t a joke.” 

Ace isn’t the beefiest man he’s ever seen, but just yesterday Ezra saw him punch someone clear across the town plaza for some reason or another; no fire necessary. Ezra just wanted to finish some deliveries and ended up having to step over an unconscious body for his trouble. 

“Oh.” Ace nods as if he understands something big and important. “Thanks for the compliment, then.”

It wasn’t a compliment either, just a stated fact. He doesn’t know how Ace is coming to these conclusions, but Ezra will let him have them if he wants. Feels like it’ll be too much of a hassle to correct him. Besides, he has more immediate things to take care of today. 

* * *

Ezra checks out of the conversation as immediately as he checked into it—suddenly and with little to no warning. The fact that he started one was a surprise in and of itself, and Ace thought maybe he was finally warming up to him or whatever. He must have pushed a little too far at some point.

Deuce says Ace can be pushy on the best of days, combined with a stubborn streak that yet to be unmatched—granted, Deuce has never met Luffy, then he’d know what stubbornness really is. But Deuce also said it’s a part of Ace’s charm or something; a captain that can push despite the odds stacked against him is a captain worth following. But Ezra isn’t exactly a difficult portion of ocean to cross or a tricky fight. 

He’s just another person, a person around Ace’s age at that. That’s the real reason Ace is interested anyway, having not interacted with a lot of people his age even when he was still living on Foosha given how he stuck to the mountains. He was fine with Dadan and her family and Luffy and Sabo when he had them for as long as he did. Traveling has opened his eyes to all sorts of people; they’re either shocked, stunned, or amazed by Ace being a captain so young or their jealousy breeds something ugly in them.

He can deal with both those types easily and has enough experience by now. It’s Ezra’s lack of interest overall that surprises him the most for some reason or another. Maybe it’s because he sees pirates come through all the time; Ace doesn’t know but he finds himself wanting to figure it out. Can’t ask though, he might get a lie or a half-answer that doesn’t answer anything. 

Walking through the forest when they’re trying to be quiet might not be the best time to ask anyway, Ace knows that much. Too bad it’s also the longest time he’s had Ezra in one spot; having spotted him throughout the town in different instances, but the other was always gone within the next few minutes or so—a petal in the breeze, a leaf to the wind. 

Easy to catch sight of, harder to pin down.

Even now when they’re right next to each other, Ezra’s pressed to stay in one spot. When Ace goes to revive their lost thread of conversation, the other is already gone, scaling the trunk of a tree with ease even though he’s barefoot.

“What are you doing?” Ace can’t help but ask, has to ask.

He only gets an answer when Ezra is situated, legs dangling from a sturdy branch a few meters off the ground. “You can come up here if you want.”

Ace thinks he might not have much of choice, not if he wants actual answers. He’s good at climbing trees; it’s a skill ingrained from years of scampering around Colubo. Ezra picked a sturdy place to sit at the very least.

“Did you find a deer?” Is the first thing he thinks to ask, would make sense. A higher vantage point for a clearer shot. 

Ezra shakes his head, a curl falling free that he immediately tucks behind his ear. “They were scared away.”

That’s no good; he was sure the two of them were practically silent in the forest. Ace has hunted enough to know how to tread carefully. “Not by us, right?”

“No,” Ezra huffs a sound that Ace takes as annoyance or something close to it. “we’re being followed and those are the ones scaring away everything.”

“I didn’t notice anyone following us.”

Ace feels bad; he must be slipping, distracted in ways he normally isn’t. He ought to keep a better eye on his surroundings especially in a completely new place—he knows of at least a few members of his crew that would pitch a fit if they knew he wasn’t being more careful. 

“It’s fine. I know the forest here better than you do.” It’s said so simply that Ace doesn’t know if he should be insulted or not, but figures Ezra is right even if he is being blunt about it. 

Before he can say much to that, he finally hears the intruders. Two men stomping through the forest without care and their voices loud whispers. Ace can’t hear what they’re saying, not clearly, but the way they’re pointing and waving their arms around wildly must mean they’re looking for someone. 

He turns towards Ezra and sees a small frown on the other’s face. “You get followed often?”

“They’re probably here for you.” He answers without looking, feet swinging. “Figured cornering you in the forest with a civilian would catch you off guard.”

“Shit, sorry about that.” Ace didn’t think about how someone else might be used as a ploy to get to him. Most people are usually good about facing him directly when they want a fight, no tricks or traps needed unless it’s the marines. “I can fight them off, lead them out of here.”

“Your Devil Fruit would cause a forest fire in seconds. That and you don’t know the terrain. You really would get lost if you try to lead them away.” 

“Good old fashion brute force has never failed me before.”

He wasn’t planning on using his Fruit anyway, but there is a point about him possibly getting lost. Ace likes to think he isn’t that directionally challenged, however. He can survive in a forest though, that’s for sure. 

“It’s fine.” Ezra says before there can be an objection. “I can handle this.”

Ace wants to ask him how he plans on accomplishing anything. Bow and arrows are great and all, but as soon as one gets fired off, that’ll just alert the other person to their presence. But any question formed on the tip of his tongue is held behind the cage of his teeth. 

Ezra has his eyes closed and brows creased in concentration, a hand on the flat of the tree trunk next to him. Something seems to shift with creaks and groans; Ace automatically tightens his grip on the branch beneath him although it isn’t their shared perch that moves, not really. It’s the roots of the tree, rather; they spring up from the ground with only shifting earth as a warning, thoroughly catching the already distracted men off guard when they trip and stumble along the quaking ground—their screams of alarm quickly fill the air. 

Has to be a Devil Fruit, he thinks with awe and curiosity. Can’t be anything else but that, he concludes, watching the great roots of the tree tangle around the men. Ace doesn’t know if cracks he hears are the breaking of bones or the loud creaks of bark being forced to move in ways it naturally shouldn’t, but it’s quick to quiet the men down. 

There’s never been anything natural about a Devil Fruit or the users who take on their power. That much Ace is certain of.

The silence that settles when everything has stopped is oddly eerie as if all the surrounding animals either escaped or are holding their breath. It’s only broken by a yawn coming from Ezra.

“I hate doing that.” Ace hears him complain softly as controlling a tree with a touch of his fingers is a great nuisance instead of something amazing.

With no warning, he’s scaling back down the tree before Ace can question anything about what just happened. Anxious for answers, Ace jumps down from the branch and lands in a crouch instead of taking the long way down. Near the base of the tree, men are thoroughly out cold from what he can tell. 

“Are they stuck like that?” Ace asks, poking at a protruding root with his booted foot and hands on his hip. 

“If you let someone in town know, they’ll get them.” Ezra says by way of answering, not really the response Ace was expecting but it’s probably telling. Maybe he doesn’t want to risk them escaping too early. 

“What’s the name of your Fruit?” He turns to face the other, mind already formulating another question. Ace finds himself faltering, however, blinking once then twice at the sight of Ezra laying down on the ground

“Are you...?” He pauses, starts again after he clears his head with a shake. Why is this guy so weird? “You okay? What are you doing?”

Ezra hums tunelessly, an arm flung over his eyes. “Passing out.” He sighs a great heave. “Sorry.”

Definitely not how Ace was expecting this outing to go, but he can’t say it was a boring experience. He waits it out a few more seconds but the even rise and fall of Ezra’s chest soon after means that the other is asleep by now. At least he managed to climb down from the tree instead of falling right out of it—small mercies. 

Well then, someone has to take care of things now, Ace supposes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ezra's intro is sort of done!!! i'll be scaling back the multiple pov part of this fic to primarily ezra and ace now and an occasional special guest depending, so i think that'll be fun!! thanks so much for reading and please leave a comment if you'd like!!


End file.
